


tromper l'oeil

by muking



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Complaining!Michael, French!Ashton, Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-30
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-02-23 04:29:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2534237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/muking/pseuds/muking
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>tromper l'oeil: French, "Fool The Eye"</p><p>Or the one where Michael's entire family is wiped out by the annul lottery, Calum is just trying to protect Luke and his sister, Luke freaks out a lot, and Ashton has a baby and an idea for a rebellion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lottery

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted to start a future fic and this came out. Ashton speaks french btw, that's why the title is in French. I wrote all of this in one day oh my god.

His number's in the lottery six times. That's five times more than his mum's, six times more than most of the people in this pen.

Michael's on the end, second to last, pressed between two boys that are definitely taller than him. The one to his right, the one on the very end, has dark hair and tanned skin. He wasn't from around here, it was obvious he wasn't, and Michael wondered how much money his family managed to scrape together to get here. Probably seven gold coins for him alone. He kept glancing back towards the 26-27's designated area. There's a girl that has skin just a shade lighter than his but five shades darker than everyone else's standing in the silent court yard. The number 296 was shakily scribbled all over the boy's skin.

The boy to his left is shaking. He's practically vibrating in anticipation, fingers locked in front of him and teeth pressed to his bottom lip. There's a shiny black ring next to his teeth, which put his number into the lottery at least three times. His hair's shoved up into half a quiff, the other half lying limply against his forehead. There's obviously some hair product holding it up, another white ball with his number written on it in the bowl. He starts humming softly, under his breath, the tune breaking off in some parts where his voice won't work.

Michael glances over to the nearest guard nervously, watching them scan a number on an 18-19 girl's arm across the isle from us. He doesn't seem to notice the humming, but a few of the other boy's around them did. They glance at him from the corner of their eyes, careful not to draw attention to themselves. There's another guard two rows ahead if them, starting at the front of the 18-19 boy's pen and working backwards.

The boy to Michael's right, number 296, sticks his head forward, looking around him so he can glance at the humming boy. "Luke!" He hisses out. The humming stops, but the guard across the isle from them looks up quickly.

"296!" He yells out. All three of the boys, and the boys around them, held their breath, snapping their gazes back up to the stage, right in front of all the 0-1's, strapped into their bucket seats and snoring. The man with the dark blue suit and powder white skin brings up one of the white balls in his hand and scribbles a number on it in a black marker. 296. He drops it into the bowl with all the other numbers from the 18-19 boy's group. It's one of the only bowls filled to the top.

They're silent for the rest of the scanning. When the guard reaches number 296, he grabs his arm tightly and brings the little silver scanner up to one of the black numbers on his bicep. "Oh, look at you," the guard mutters lowly so that only the boy can hear him. Michael strains his ears to listen. "How many times is your number in there?"

The boy huffs and jerks his arm away as soon as the beep echoes around them, signifying he was registered. "Eighteen." He says sharply.

"You know what?" The guard shifts the gun on his back and the scanner in his hand. "I don't think I like your attitude." The boy sucks in a sharp breath as the guard shouts out his number, smirking like a shark, and sidesteps onto Michael. Another white ball pings into the bowl. Nineteen times was a lot.

The guard barely glances at him, despite the fact that he could probably hear the thudding of his heart. It picks up as he brings the scanner up to the messy number 17 scribbled on the back of Michael's palm. There's one on his cheek and another two on each arm, as well. The beep echoes around him, a sharp sound that was practically music to his ears, and he let's out the breath he didn't realize he was holding.

The guard steps to the boy next to him and decides on the number on his forehead. The scanner beeps but the guard doesn't move on. Instead, he reaches his hand up and flicks the shiny black ring in the boy's lip. "How many times did this thing get you in?" He smirks.

The boy flinches and bites his jaw together, the muscle under his cheek pulsing with the force. He's still shaking, but trying harder to control it now, resulting in his stomach and biceps quivering, shudders only rocking through his body every few seconds. "Four," He mutters.

The guard snorts and reaches up again, taking hold of the little ring with his first finger and thumb. The boy, Luke, stands stock still, waiting for the guard to rip it out like they all know he will. His eyes are squeezed shut, nose and cheeks pushing up and crinkling with the force of it.

Michael clicks his tongue.

Everyone who dares snaps their gaze to him, including the guard and number 296 on his right. Luke peels one eye back slowly to look at him in horror. The guards hand comes in sharp contact with Michael's cheek, leaving it stinging and red. The loud slapresonates around the dead silent court field, followed by a loud gasp that can only have come from his mother.

"Seventeen!" The guard shouts. Blue suit and pale skin scribbles his number down on the ball and drops it in. The guard shoves his face in Michael's, black face mask hiding the top half of his face, almost touching Michael's nose. His lips curl down into a snarl and he growls out, "It's shit like that, that gets you killed, kid." He continues edging closer and closer, Michael's heart practically in his throat, then yells at the top of his lungs, "Number 17!" Michael jumps a little, loud gasp falling from his lips as he stumbles backwards a step.

That sets off a chain reaction. The guard across the isle from them yells his number. The one scanning in the 6-7's girls yells his number. The one scanning in the 40-41's yells his number. The three at the edge of the stage yell his number. Most of the guards start yelling his number, and by the time the one in front of him steps aside, teeth sharp where they're pulled into a smirk, and the shouting calms down, he's up to 47. Not counting the original six. The man on stage is struggling to keep up, but he manages to shove all 47 of the balls into the nearly overflowing bowl.

The guard spits in Luke's face, then moves to the boy next to him. Luke doesn't make a move to wipe it off or open his eyes, which are still squeezed shut. The guard finishes their row and moves to the 20-21 boys, stepping over the two ropes and thin isle that seperates the two groups.

Finally, Luke let's out a huge breath, entire chest deflating at the force of it, and peels his eyes open again. He pulls the sleeves of his sweater over his thumbs and wipes the spit from where it had landed on his cheek, then dripped all the way down to his collarbones and sweater collar.

The guard yells out the number 64 and Luke makes a jerky movement like he's going to whip around to look at the group behind them. Michael stops him by grabbing his hip firmly, squeezing it between his fingers until Luke faces the front again. To their right, the tanned boy notices and stares at Michael in complete bewilderment. He blinks back at him, offering a small smile even though his heart's in his toes and his lungs are compressed in his chest, making it next to impossible to breathe.

"Calum," Luke whispers. The boy in front of Michael glances behind him, looking at Luke quickly, before turning back around. "Cal, that's Jack's number."

Calum, the boy next to Michael who's from the south east if he had to guess, doesn't pay any attention to him. Instead, he flicks his eyes over Michael's face slowly and says, "Why did you do that?"

Michael shrugs. "Didn't want him to get hurt." He doesn't like the sight of blood, so that's another factor. Luke probably would have bled badly, judging by the placement of his lip ring and the way his cheeks are flushing from nerves.

"296 and 17!" The guard across the isle yells. Michael and Calum both huff and turn their attention back to the front. The black marker feels heavy across Michael's skin, like it's burning through his flesh. He knows his mother's going to hit him the second she sees him. If she sees him.

The red part of his cheek burns and tingles. Two more balls are shoved into the bowl on stage. A few jump over the edge and bounce across the floor, sending the man in the blue suit chasing after them.

No one says anything and Luke stays uncharacteristically still throughout the entire registration, only starting to shake again when the man in the blue suit steps forward. He smooths down the black hair that's in a perfect politicians haircut, contrasting against his pale skin sharply, and smiles. His teeth have been filed down to points, fitting together perfectly and resembling a shark.

He taps the mic that's standing at the very edge of the stage and clears his throat. The noises echo around the dead silent town ominously. Michael flinches. Luke jumps nearly a foot in the air and grabs out at Michael's waist to steady himself. He jerks his hand away just as quick, like he'd been burned. Calum crosses his arms over his chest and glares at the stage.

"Hello!" The man's voice booms around them, Michael's stomach somewhere near his heels and his heart in his throat again. "Welcome to the annual lottery, it's good that you are here!"

Like they'd had a choice. Michael remembers the heavy thudding of the guard's knuckles against his door that morning, the way his mother had jumped and smoothed down her skirt shakily, glancing over at Michael to confirm he'd written his number on himself and combed his hair.

"As you all know, the lottery is separated by age groups and, hopefully, the person standing next to you has done some awful things!" The man chuckles. A few of the boys in the 18-19 group turn or lean out of their row to glance at Michael, even sending Calum a withering look. They both shift nervously, Michael more so than Calum, probably. Luke turns his head nervously to glance behind them, letting out a shuttering breathe.

Michael turns slightly to follow his gaze and catches sight of a 20-21 boy flipping Luke off and pointing to the front forcefully. He looks bigger than Luke, both in height and muscle, but with the same nose, hair, and eyes.

"We'll start with the 60's plus group and move down accordingly," The man moves towards another bowl that's filled almost to the brim. Someone way in the back let's out a shout of, "Fuck you!" It's quickly followed by a sharp crack that no one is surprised by. Luke still jumps and grabs Michael's waist again.

This time, just as he's about to jerk away again, Michael grabs his hand and laces their fingers together. Luke squeezed his hand so tight it'll probably be green and purple by the time he let's go. Calum flicks his eyes down at their hands, then back up to Michael's face, looking at him in complete confusion. Like he can't figure out any of Michael's motives. Michael can't figure out what he's doing with his own life, so he can see where Calum's coming from.

The man on the stage clears his throat again, eyes locked on something in the back. There's some thumps and scrapes, followed by a guard yelling, "634!"

"Right, well," Guess we'll just move on to the 50-59's group," He steps to the next bowl, standing behind it and waiting patiently. No one screams at him or darts toward the stage, so he sticks his hand in the half filled bowl. Michael can hear his heart pounding again, thudding against his eardrums like it's trying to escape. The balls make muffled pinging noises as he scrapes his hand through them, reaching up to his elbow. He stops suddenly and retracts his arm, pulling the ball out to read the number scribbled on it in shaky handwriting.

There's a second where he stares at the number. Michael can't breathe, anticipation building in his throat like a brick wall. He can barely feel Luke's hand in his anymore.

"Number 18!" The man yells through the microphone. The words resonate in Michael's head, echoing around his skull and digging into every corner of his brain. There's a slight moment where he can't see anything except a bright white light and he cant hear anything. Not that there's anything to hear anyway. The rushing in his ears is too loud. His vision comes back as his knees give out, the world shifting and tilting to the side.

Calum and Luke grab his elbows and drag him back to his feet before anyone can notice. Calum let's go of him as soon as he's sure Michael can stand on his own, but Luke laces their fingers together again. There's some muffled screaming, followed by dragging. Michael's mother is shoved onto the stage.

"Catch or release?" The man asks. He smiles at her, rests his palm on her shoulder. Michael jerks forward a little, ready to go on stage himaelf, but Calum's grabbing his arm, digging his fingers into his muscles until Michael's flinching back, closer to Luke.

His mother scans the 18-19 boy's pen until she finds Michael and offers him a sad smile. "Catch," he says softly. Her shaky voice echoes around the court yard, amplified by the microphone the man is holding up to her pale pink lips.

Michael can't help himself. He let's out a loud, "No!" that has all eyes from the 20-21's up on him. No one in front of him turns around, but he sees a few shoulders tense. Luke squeezes his hand and Calum squeezes his bicep.

"Alright, let's move onto the 40-49's group!" The man says. Michael's mother stays on the stage, feet pressed together and hands behind her back. She looks down at her toes, hair falling into her face, not even glancing at her only fucking son. A man in a black vest and dress pants is picked from the 40-49's group. He looks unconcerned, leans forward to say, "Release," into the microphone.

There's a shudder that flies through the crowd at that, whispers falling down the rows and dying at the first shush of a guard. A woman in the 30-38's group says catch almost before she gets on stage. Next is the 28-29's, where another woman is a black skirt is picked. The 26-27's has Calum glancing around, standing on his toes to see the girl behind them. He drops Michael's arm and nearly sticks his head into the isle. Luke hisses his name, making him jerk back to his spot, back straight and eyes forward.

Number 72 is drawn and Calum let's out such a heavy breathe, he nearly falls forward. They watch as a man crosses the stage and mutters, "Catch."

Michael can't really focus after that, because his mother glances up and locks eyes with him, dark green irises barely visible. She doesn't smile or frown at him, her face is blank of any emotion. She looks down at her shoes and Michael feels his eyes burning.

The number for the 20-21's is called. Luke screams at the top of his lungs and spins around. "Jack!"

Calum starts panicking and reaches over to smack Luke across the face, elbow nearly hitting Michael in the nose. The loud slap! is nearly as deafening as Luke's yell. Michael squeezes Luke's hand tighter and grabs his elbow to push him back towards the front. Calum retracts his arm hastily, glancing around to make sure no guards are coming for them. None are, they're usually more lenient during the lotter than before.

The boy from before, the one that was flipping Luke off, stalks to the stage. Michael feels his heart thudding through his entire body again when he practically grabs the microphone away from the man in the blue suit and says, "Release!" Another ripple of whispers fall through the crowd. He's young, but not young enough to be written off as ill informed. He knows what he's getting himself into.

The 18-19's group is next. That's their group. He ignores the way Calum shuffles nervously. FiftyThree. That's a lot of times to have your name in the bowl with a group this small. Luke's shaking even more now, probably about to wiggle out of his skin.

Michael's holding his head high, adamantly not showing any signs of fear or nerves. It's a front that's mostly for his mother's sake, as she lifts her head once more to glance at him. Her eyes scan his face but never lock together with his own green orbs.

The man's hand plunges right into the bowl, shoulder deep. At least twenty of the balls fly out in various directions, scattering across the stage and bouncing to the ground below. The boy Luke knows, Jack, bends down and grabs the ball at his feet, turning it over to read the number scrawled across it. He holds it up and Michael can barely make out the 17. They lock eyes and Luke bumps their shoulders together lightly. Fifty two is still a lot. Jack drops the ball and they all watch as it goes bouncing down the stairs at the front, landing in the dead grass at the bottom.

The man retracts his arm from the bowl, holding the ball up to read it. Michael suddenly wants it to be 296 even less than he wants it to be 17. He glances over at Luke, catches sight of the number 3 written on his cheek. They all hold their breathe.

"Seven-" Michael has a string of curse words on his tongue and the word "Catch," in the back of his throat. The man finishes off with, "-ty eight!"

He stares at the ball in the man's hand in shock. Calum smiles easily and Luke huffs, another shudder racking his body.

Number 78 is a girl with her hair pulled back in a braid. She says, "Catch," in a small voice.

When the ceremony is over, they're all ordered to go back to their homes to be with their families for a short time. Michael doesn't know what to do. His mother's not allowed to leave the stage and he doesn't have any other family. His home will be empty and he's not sure he'll come back when they're ordered to.

Luke bolts off almost instantly, disappearing into the throngs of people to catch up with the rest of his family. Calum makes a move like he's hoing to fall back into the crowd after Luke, but he sends Michael a quick look first.

Michael knows he probably looks dumb. He's standing stock still while everyone else is probably scurrying towards their homes. He's got his lips parted slightly, eyes wide as he tries to digest the situation. Several other boys shove past him, easily pushing him left and right. He almost falls, but Calum grabs his arm and holds him upright.

"What's your name?" Calum asks, raising is Boise to be heard over the shouts from both the guards and civilians.

"M-Michael," Michael glances up, wondering why Calum is still here when he could be celebrating with his family.

"Where's your dad, Michael?" Calum asks. Michael swallows thickly and hakes his head, can't quite bring himself to tell Calum that his dad was released six years ago. "No other family? Aunts? Grandma? Second cousins twice removed?" Calum asks. Michael shakes his head. His parents had both been only children and his grandparents were already gone by the time he was born.

Calum sighs. Michael knows he's being a burden. Calum's trying to help him and getting little helpful response. He's about to tell Calum to just go find that girl in the 26-27's, but then Calum grabs his shoulder and glances around. He nods his head toward the trampled 20-21's pen that had been behind them. There's a boy that looks younger than them standing there, hands shoved into his pockets and hair in his face.

"That's Ashton," Calum says. Michael wants to sarcastically thank him for the useless information. He just nods. "Go tell him you know me, my name is Calum, and he'll take you home, alright?"

He nods, ignores everything his mother had warned him about stranger dangers, and steps towards the boy named Ashton.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ashton just talks a lot and people die that's it

Ashton just hums and smiles. He doesn't even respond to Michael's stuttered, broken, "I- I know Calum and he said you could help?"

Ashton has his hands locked behind his back, a little smile on his face, rocking back on his heels a few times. He doesn't even glance at Michael, hazel eyes locked onto the bottom of the stage. His skin is tan, too tan to originate from as far north as they are. His hair is light brown, waving across his head and curling around his ears.

The crowd pulsing around them, pushing back and towards every corner of the town is starting to thin out, only a few stragglers wandering around and whimpering. There's a thick band of guards surrounding the stage, guns poised ready for anyone who approaches. The 18 people on stage, not counting the man in the blue suit, are still and quiet.

Except Jack. Jack grins at Michael and Ashton, then yells down to the guards that they're all trash. Ashton smiles widely, dimples pressing into his cheeks and mutters, "He's going to get himself killed before he even gets out."

Michael doesn't respond, so Ashton turns to him. He pushes the hair off his forehead and pulls on the hem of his dark blue sweater. "You're the one that helped Luke, right? What's your name?"

"Michael," he mutters under his breathe. Ashton catches the simple word and reaches forward to brush something off the Michael's shoulder. Michael nods after a second of deliberation, he did help Luke, and wonders if people are going to be asking him that forever. Luke seems to know a lot of people.

"Well, thanks, I guess," Ashton turns back to the edge of the stage. There's a couple of hasty mothers grabbing their small children from the 0-1's pen. Only a few 2-3's remain. Ashton smilesagainand says, "Mi casa est su casa."

Michael has no fucking clue what that means. He thinks it's probably another language, which makes him wonder how Ashton knows another language. He hasn't heard someone speak anything except English since the boy in his third year class let it slip that he knew french. Michael remembers the loud bang and the blood spilling across the boy's desk the next day.

Before he can ask, Ashton takes a step forward. Michael follows him obediently, glancing around him to see that they're headed towards the edge of the stage. There's a little girl sitting in the yellow grass in the middle of the 2-3's pen, little white dress flowing around her like a cloud. She's not wearing any shoes, bare heels pressing into the dirt where she'd dug a little hole, and there's a flower crown on top of her shoulder length dishwater blonde hair.

Ashton clicks his tongue twice and says, "What are you doing getting your pretty dress all dirty? C'est ne bonne pas." The little girl looks up at them with big green eyes, instantly grinning happily and squealing.

Michael glances nervously at the guards, who are all glaring at Ashton, knuckles white around the thick barrels of their guns. Surely they'd heard Ashton speaking a different language. Why wasn't he being slaughtered on the spot? The people on the stage are staring at them as well, even his mother is watching then with her mouth dropped open.

He gets the first syllable of mom out before she looks back down again. He cuts himself off, but the guard closest to him still pumps his gun menacingly, the sharp slide of the weapon resonating around the square. Ashton, who had been bending down in front of the little girl, stands back up instantly. He spits out something wildly, foreign words jumbled together and too loud for Michael's liking. Michael holds his breathe, but the guards just glare at Ashton some more and don't make any move to kill him.

"Fucking idiots," Ashton huffs. He bends down and scoops the little girl into his arms, pressing her to his chest and kissing her forehead with a loud smack. She giggles and grabs onto his sweater collar tightly.

"Come on, mon cher," Ashton looks over at Michael again. Michael doesn't know what monchermeans. "Let's get you home." Michael doesn't move. He's still a little shocked by Ashton's raised voice and foreign words. And the fact that they're not dead yet. Ashton starts stalking away, head held high and nose in the air. He's going in the wrong direction. Michael sends both his mother and the road to his house a forlorn glance. Ashton stops suddenly and turns on his heels. "Maintenant, chop chop, mi amore." Michael stares at him.

There's a soft thump as something collides with the side of his head, followed by another as the object lands in the grass at his feet. He glances down to find a small white ping pong ball with the number 17 staring up at him. Jack's staring at him from stage, another ball held in his hand, ready to throw. "Come on, I think I just aged a year waiting for you," Jack whines.

Michael practically trips over himself to follow Ashton. He stumbles along, latching onto the back of Ashton's sweater when he gets close enough. Ashton doesn't seem to mind, just keeps walking away while whispering something to the little girl in his arms. It's definitely not English and that scares Michael a lot. He's not sure what he's getting himself into with this boy.

****

Ashton's house is small, two rooms smaller than Michael's (old) house. There's a stove, sink, and three cupboards with a small table a few feet away. Three old wooden chairs are shoved under the worn table, and a rotting couch is facing away from it. His television is smaller than Michael's, facing the table and couch, with two doors on one side and one on the other. The one closest to the television is the bathroom, he can tell by the blue and white tiles showing near the crack under the door.

Ashton sets the little girl on top of the table, smoothing down the dress so it flows elegantly around her. The smooth, clean white of the dress contrasts well with the dark, worn wood of the table top. He smiles at her, making her squeal, then turns to Michael again.

"Mon aimee," he says like Michael should know what he's saying. "Love, where is your family?"

Michael finds his sass again. "I could ask you the same thing." He immediately shuts his mouth. Ashton's giving him shelter and human contact and he's repaying him by asking about his family, when he clearly doesn't have any.

Ashton just shrugs. "True. Mom was killed when I was 10, didn't know her very well, and my dad was released when I was 18. My wife, little Willow's mother, was released at the same time. My younger sister was caught in the lottery when I was 14 and she was 12, and my younger brother and older sisterescaped when I was 16 and they were 5 and 20."

"Escaped-" Michael's mind starts running. He's never heard of anyone escaping. Everyone in the village knew how dangerous it was outside of the four barbed walls. The forest was thick with carnivorous animals, dangerous criminals, and people with contagious diseases. The risks of being released were drilled into Michael's brain in year one, even before he learned colors or letters.

He opens his mouth to ask Ashton. He's not sure what he's going to say, but it would probably come out sounding like "whatthefuck". Before he even gets his voice box to work again, Ashton's clicking his tongue.

"Nope, your turn. Family?"

Michael frowns, but it's really only fair. Ashton told him about his family, he should get an explanation for why Michael's even in his house, in return. "Dad was released four years ago, Sister was shot in the throat three years back, and mum was just caught."

"What, like, just now?" Ashton gestures vaguely off in the direction of the town center and Michael nods. "Well, that makes sense."

"What languages do you speak? And what did you say to the guards?" Michael blurts out. He'd meant to save his question to ask more about Ashton's family and the whole escapingthing, but he's still a little freaked out by the fact that Ashton had blatantly screamed at the guards in tongues and none of them had shot him.

Ashton smirks. Fucking smirks at him, eyes lighting up completely at the question. "French, Spanish, and Italian!" He says happily. Michael can barely speak English. "I told them a lot of things in various languages. A guard has to be learned in at leat one other language before they can take arms, so I made sure to hit all the bases." Michael had only hit year nine, but he's pretty sure learnedis not the right word. And he's confused, because the guards already havearms.

His mind starts wandering, drifting to the thought of guards being forced to have their arms amputated so they can be replaced with fully functioning metal ones.

"Fu toi is a favorite of mine," Ashton says, bringing him back to the real world.

"Fu toi?" Michael repeats. The words feel wrong on his tongue, like gibberish, and Ashton's has a better accent. "What's that mean?"

"Fuck you," Ashton says simply. The little girl, Willow, squeals again and makes grabby hands at Ashton until he picks her up. She giggles out something that sounds like, "Papa, les couloures!"

Ashton turns and looks at Michael curiously, then back to Willow with raised eyebrows. She points to her eye with one chubby hand, finger extended so she almost pokes herself. Ashton mutters something to her and she nods, so he looks up at Michael again. "She likes the color of your eyes," he explains.

"Does she speak English?" He tilts his head a little, watching as Willow giggles at him and ducks her head down to hide against Ashton's shoulder.

"She's fluent in English and French," Ashton nods, shaking his arm to jostle Willow a bit. "Well, as fluent as a two year old can get. She just prefers to speak French around people she doesn't know so they can't tell what she's saying."

"Papa, non," Willow whines, pushing out against Ashton's face with her dimpled palm. Ashton stops shaking his arm and stills them both, and Willow ducks down against his shoulder again.

"Mon aimie," Ashton says softly. She glances up at him frowns, pulling her thin eyebrows down in an annoyed glare. "Wow, attitude today, alright." Ashton scoffs. His lips are pulled up into a small smile.

Michael steps towards the two, smiling a little.

The bell chirps twice in the distance. His smile drops and his blood runs cold. The rushing in his ears gets louder again, almost overpowering his hearing.

Luckily, Ashton just smooths down Willow's dress and flicks his nose into the air.

****

The man with the blue suit is back. He's in the middle of the stage, shoving his perfect hair back and checking his pale face in a small mirror. He snaps it closed when he hears the guards, "Ready!", and shoves it into his pocket.

Michael's standing in the front of the court yard where the family members of the caught are supposed to, hands locked behind his back and knees shaking. Luke's next to him, glaring at Jack, who's picking at his teeth. Michael's kind of afraid he's insane.

Ashton's on his other side with Willow clinging to his neck, draped across his back.

"Welcome back everyone!" The man yells into the microphone, flashing his sharp white smile. Luke mutters angrily under his breath. "I'm so glad you're all here to watch the annual catch and release ceremony!"

"Wouldn't miss it," Ashton says lowly, so only Michael can hear. He bounces his shoulders a bit, taking Willow with him, and she grins widely.

"But first and foremost, our king requires a brief history about our past," the man on stage looks thrilled. He bounces to the side of the stage on the toes of his shiny black shoes, and gestures bodily towards the screen that had been set up on top of the stage. It was just a thick white sheet hanging on a metal pole behind all eighteen captures.

The government's anthem starts playing, thin lines of harp and violin layered over flute. A trumpet joins in for the last few notes while a golden lion appears on the screen, blatantly standing out against rhe white background. Finally, the king appears. He's sitting on his red throne, the one with black stitching all the way up the sides and back. His wife is behind him in a long white dress and golden wrap around her shoulders.

"Eighty years ago, long before any of our fellow citizens had been birthed, a great war broke out across the land," the king says. There's dark shadows darkening his sharp features and a small smirk on his pink lips. He's staring into the camera with a purpose, blue eyes like steel.

Michael wants to groan at the dramatics. Every year is the same thing. They're shown the same video in the same courtyard. The only difference is the slight change in the King's voice when he'd said "eighty".

"Our ancestors fought long and hard, maybe a little too much so," he continues. Ashton starts humming the anthem from next to him and his daughter giggles. "Three fourths of the world's population was wiped out by new, advanced, nuclear warfare. We humans underestimated our power and refused to stop, even as countries were wiped off the map. Humanity fell and the remaining 4 billion peoole were lost and confused. They knew not what to do, until a hero arose. Charlie Williamson Stark, may god rest his soul."

The King pauses and everyone on the square chants, "May he live forever more," Ashton and Willow both giggle, while Jack booes loudly from the stage. Luke sucks in a sharp breath and fumbles around blindly for Michael's hand again. Michael allows their fingers to be laced together and his knuckles squeezed.

"My father brought everyone together and took his rightful place as king," William Stark continues. Michael makes an exasperated sighing noise. "To ensure that everyone held their place and lived peacefully, he decided to hold an annual lottery. Each person would have their name in the lottery, and those chosen could decide to be either caught and spend their eternal days in heaven, or be released and attempt to survive in the wilderness."

Jack boos loudly again, and Ashton hisses quietly. Their close enough to the stage that Jack hears and glances down at them. Ashton glares right back up and angrily hisses, "Jackie, non! Tu et ne bon pas!"

"I have no idea what you just said," Jack admits.

Ashton sighs heavily. "Shut the fuck up!" He rephrases. Willow makes a sort of scolding/grunting noise and wags her at the stage from Ashton's back, forcing Jack to hold his hands up in defence. The King's speech finishes up with something about how the lottery is shaping their planet as a whole, and the government's emblem shows again, quickly followed by the anthem. Michael's not listening anymore. His heart's hammering in his chest and his throat feels constricted again. Luke squeezes his hand tightly.

"Ready!" A guard yells. Michael flinches. The entire square holds their breath. Several guards walk onto the stage, boots echoing loudly and invisible armor clinking.

A slightly lower voice yells, "Aim!"

The guards lower their guns at the sixteen people on stage that have been caught. The black weapons click into place while the guards set their stance. Michael's mother let's her eyes flick up once more to glance the family members in the front row. She smiles sadly and whispers something that Michael can't hear before the guard's yelling again. 

The noise that comes out is one loud bang that seems like it echoes around the entire world. Dark red stains the white cloth behind the sixteen bodies that thump to the stage, splatters reaching across the government's emblem like crooked fingers.

Only Jack and the other man stay standing, tall and proud with their fingers locked behind their backs and their heads held high.

Michael screams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is awful don't look at me


	3. 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know very limited French and Italian and next to no Spanish, so I'm sorry if these translations suck

Michael lives with Ashton and Willow for a full year before he has to face uncertain death, again. Ashton gently nudges him awake the morning of and helps him scrawl the number 17 over his skin. He does it gently, making sure the lines are smooth, despite Michael's shaking. 

"Mon amour," he says softly. Michael glances up, startled and meets Ashton's eyes sheepishly. He's still shaking where Ashton's carefully holding up his hand. "Ça va, it's okay." 

"No," Michael mumbles miserably. "It's not ça va, it's very not ça va." 

Ashton smiles fondly at his poor understanding of the French language. He releases Michael's hand and caps the marker, then reaches forward to cup Michael's cheeks in both of his hands. "Mon amour," he whispers again as he rubs his thumbs across Michael's smooth cheekbones. "Il mio amore, il mio piccolo fiore, ragazzino, bébé." 

Michael tilts his head up and let's his eyelashes flutter shut while he patiently waits for Ashton to go through all his nicknames. It makes his lips tilt up slightly, especially when Ashton presses a soft kiss to his forehead. Ashton's like this with the three of them and his daughter, always gentle and caring and full of little pet names only Calum really understands. Calum tends to shy away from Ashton's calmly exuberant kisses and delicate names, while Luke preens at the attention, only squirming away some of the time. Michael loves being babied, he loves it. 

"My love," Ashton finishes in english, so Michael peels his eyes open and looks at the older boy curiously. "Michael, my love, it seems we have not been completely honest with you." Michael frowns at that, and Ashton instantly copies the action.

"What’s that mean?" Michael asks.

"It means," Ashton swipes his tongue across his lower lip. "It means Calum and Luke are not in the lottery today." 

Michael's eyes widen, mouth falling open slightly, while Ashton tries to keep his impartial yet apprehensive expression. "That's- that's good news, isn't it?" 

"Yes, that is good news," Ashton agrees. Michael senses a but, and Ashton sighs when he relents. "But, you and I are." 

"That's nothing new,"

"No, bambino," Ashton sighs and rubs the pads of his thumbs across Michael's cheeks again soothingly, to distract him. "Our names are the only two in there." 

"You're lying," Michael blurts instantly. He'd walked past the square earlier, and saw the guards throwing ping pong balls into the pots. It's already done, the bowls are filled, there's no way Ashton had taken them all out. Besides, why would he? 

"Sto mentendo?" Ashton asks. Michael's learned enough over the past year to figure Ashton's probably just repeated what he'd said, but with raised eyebrows, clearly challenging. "Michael, why would I lie to you about something like this? Do you trust me?" 

Michael flicks his eyes over Ashton's serious face for a second, before nodding slowly. "I trust you. But why- how-" 

Ashton shushes him and somehow manages to make it sound French. "Today, there will be two winners picked from each group. They will be you and I." 

"Why?" Michael repeats. "How? Why would you do this? What about Willow? Why two-" 

Ashton's hand drifts from his jaw and clamps firmly over Michael's mouth. "Tais-toi." Michael's learned enough French from both Calum and Ashton to know what shut up means. He closes his mouth, so Ashton's hand moves back to his jaw. "I need you to trust me, Michael. Do you trust me?" Michael nods quickly again, but that's not enough for Ashton. "Tell me." 

Michael stumbles over what little Italian he knows to please Ashton. "M-mi fido di te. I trust you." 

"Good," Ashton kisses his forehead again. "You ask too many questions, ragazzino." 

"What does that mean?" Michael asks, repeating the word and probably butchering it, completely. 

Ashton smiles and brushes the hair off Michael's forehead gently. "It's Italian. It means baby boy." Michael flushes furiously and Ashton laughs, brushing a thumb over his pink cheeks. "Cute." 

Michael looks away while still leaning into Ashton in an attempt to hide his blushing. "Tais-toi," he mutters. Ashton breathes out another soft laugh and shakes his head fondly. Michael tries to reign in his blushing by reverting the conversation back to the topic at hand. "Why are we going to be picked?" 

Ashton's laugh falls off his face and a concerned expression overtakes his features. "Because we must go, my love. We will be released." 

Michael's blood runs cold and he starts shaking again. He lets out a sharp gasp and glances up at Ashton with a horrified expression, stumbling over his words and stuttering out choked disagreements. Ashton sighs and pulls Michael against his chest while quietly shushing him. Michael buries his face into the older boy's collar and hiccups out a couple gasping breaths, trying desperately to focus on the hand trailing down his spine. His breathing slows after a few seconds, enough for his to bump his one under Ashton's chin and whisper, "Please, no." 

Ashton tuts. "What do they teach you in school? Why are you so afraid, piccolo?" 

"There- there's monsters out there," Michael whispers. He grips Ashton's shirt and leans into him more while reciting what everyone has told him but the world outside the walls. "Things with big pointy teeth and sharp claws that can rip out your belly, things that are four times bigger than me and you." 

Ashton pauses. "There are, I suppose." Michael whimpers again, so Ashton rubs his back quicker. "But not here. Those creatures are usually way up north or way down south. Here, we have things called snakes. They're scary, but they won't hurt you if you leave them alone." 

Michael glances up with watery eyes and tugs on Ashton's shirt to get his attention. "How do you know?" 

"Do you trust me?" Ashton asks again. Michael pauses for a long second, before nodding. "Good. I will keep you safe from everything you are afraid of, okay?" Michael nods again. He wants to ask more questions, but Ashton will just ask if Michael trusts him. He does, Michael would follow the boy to the ends of the earth and back, but he's scared. He shakes against Ashton's chest, so Ashton kisses his forehead again lightly. "Beautiful, all you need to do is go on stage and say you wish to be released. Can you do that for me?" 

"I-" Michael cuts off and remembers his dead family. "What about Willow?" 

"Calum will watch her," Ashton's assures him. "We will be safe, estaremos a salvo." 

"Promise?" Michael asks. Ashton quirks an eyebrow, so Michael stumbles through the languages quickly. "Promesa? Promettre? Promessa?" 

Ashton beams at his pronunciation and kisses the top of Michael's head. "Yes, ragazzino, I promise."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been SO LONG how have u guys been???


	4. 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ashton and Michael don't say goodbye

Michael grabs Willow off the floor and quickly slings the three year old over his shoulder, smiling when she squeals and grips the back of his shirt. 

"Mikey, non!" She shouts. Michael's smile flickers like it always does when she speaks French. She squeals again and yells, "Papa! Papa!" 

Ashton relents and peels her away from Michael, but instantly sets her back onto the floor. She toddles away, so Ashton turns to fix Calum with a stern look.

"Do you have your list?" He asks.

Calum rolls his eyes, like he'd done the last five times Ashton had asked. "Yes, I have to list. I know how to watch a three year old for a few months, Ash, it's not that hard." 

"It is terribly hard!" Ashton refutes. 

Luke watches as Willow stumbles past him on her way towards the pile of brightly colored rocks strewn across the floor, then glances up. "I'll help him," he assures Ashton. 

Ashton frowns at the two of them. "I just worry." 

Calum says something to him in French, but Michael doesn't understand anything except shut up, and even Luke, who's trying to learn French, looks confused. 

Ashton snorts in amusement and shakes his head, "Scusa, cioccolate." 

"Stop calling me that," Calum rolls his eyes, but he looks amused, still. "Chocolate," he says for Michael and Luke's benefit. "I'm not chocolate." 

Ashton tsks and steps forward to cup Calum's cheeks. His grip is firm, probably to make sure Calum won't squirm away like he usually does. "You are dark," he says softly. "Michael and Luke are from here, you are not, you are brown." 

It makes Michael nervous that Calum just smiles fondly and allows Ashton to kiss across his face for a few seconds, before eventually swatting the older boy away and straightening himself out. "Alright, alright," he rolls his eyes while shoving Ashton off of him. "I get it, I'm brown." 

"You are like the," Ashton snaps his fingers a few times, eyebrows furrowed while he thinks. "What do they call them in english? The chewy candy things, caramello?" 

Calum snorts. "Caramels, Ashton. Two letters off." 

"Different accent," Ashton waves him off and glances over to Michael and Luke. "You two are like the- the, uh," he points to the ceiling and Michael raises his eyebrows curiously. "Lukey, des nuages?"

"The-" Luke furrows his eyebrows and looks to Calum for help, but the ravenette waits for Luke patiently. "The clouds, right?" Calum smiles and Ashton nods furiously. 

"Tais-toi," Michael says grumpily. "Tais-toi, that's all I know. Shut up, speak English." 

Ashton laughs and nearly trips over himself to throw his arms around Michael's neck. He tugs the blonde down and smucshes him against his chest in a tight hug, making Michael stumble over himself. "Ragazzino, you should learn, not complain. Luke is learning!" 

"Ragazzino," Calum repeats in a taunting tone, grinning and elbowing Luke. Michael blushes furiously and ducks down to hide his face in Ashton's neck.

Ashton clicks his tongue and shoots Calum a look. "Tais-toi, ma petite fleur de chocolat."

Calum blushes then, quickly looking away, while Luke works his way through the sentence slowly. Eventually, he looks back up at Ashton and says, "My little chocolate flower?" 

"You are learning!" Ashton smiles in agreement, ignoring Calum's huff at the translation. Michael snorts out a laugh as he attempts to squirm away, but Ashton is relentless in his hugging. "Stop it, we are- we are cuddling." He giggles after he says it, clearly proud of himself for thinking of the word. Michael's too fond to shove him away, again. 

Before any of them can continue, the bell rings deafeningly across the small town. Michael freezes and presses closer to Ashton, who just shushes him and pets his hair. 

"Papa," Willow smacks at his knee for a second. "Ça va?"

Calum bends down and swoops her into his arms easily before Ashton even has the chance. "Ça va." 

Ashton takes a deep breath while watching Calum readjust her so she's perched on his hip, before releasing Michael. "It is okay. We are okay." 

He holds his hand out, and Michael gladly grabs it.

☆☆☆☆

The four of them are in the same pen this year (the 20-21’s), stuffed towards the back to avoid drawing attention to themselves. Calum's at the end of the row with his shoulders pushed back and his legs spread to look more intimidating. Luke's looking relatively unconcerned next to him, gripping Michael's hand, while Ashton's at the other end with a small amused expression on his face. 

Michael glances up at him, but Ashton doesn't look back, so he quickly turns to the front, again. 

Homestly, Michael's not as scared as he thought he would be. He'd been worried when Ashton first told him about the plan, but now he's barely even thinking about it. He doesn't have any family, unless Ashton and Willow count. The two of them, along with Calum and Luke are all the really matter to him at this point. If he does die on the outside, Willow will be safe and Calum and Luke will have each other. Besides, Ashton will be with him. 

He's not worried. He's not even shaking, for once. 

Towards the front, Willow is sitting in the grass in the middle of the 2-3’s pen with two of her colored rocks in her hands, one colored like a lady bug and one plain blue, and looking bored out of her mind. The other toddlers are bumbling around, despite the guards that are attempting to keep them in place, but none are crying. Ashton keeps his eyes locked on his daughter and a quick glance down the line confirms that Calum is watching her closely, as well. It makes Michael relax his grip on Luke's hand.

Luke whines, so Michael shoots him a look and manages to get out, “Tais-” before Ashton's cutting him off. 

“Michael,” he hisses sharply. Michael snaps his mouth shut instantly. “No. Only English.” 

Michael wants to point out how many times Ashton has screamed at guards in various languages and how nothing had happened to him. He says, “But you-”

“You are not part of the contract,” Ashton says firmly. He turns to lock his eyes with Michael's for half a second, showing how serious he is (enough to look away from his only child), before he faces the front again. Michael doesn't ask what that means.

The guard in front of them glances over, then yells out both their numbers. On stage, the same man from last year, this year in a purple suit, scribbles both numbers onto ping pong balls and drops them into the singular filled bowl. Michael knows his number should only be in the lottery twice, but he can see it on multiple balls through the clear, glass bowl. 

Ashton had clearly stated that they must be on their best behavior during the ceremony, to ensure Calum and Luke didn't have any chance of their numbers being in the bowl. So far, there hasn't been any offences from any of the citizens, and Michael knows there's only two numbers in the bowl. 

When the guard gets to them, Michael hastily shoves Luke's hand away and steadies the blonde when he stumbles. Ashton sighs in exasperation, but doesn't look at them, not even when Luke whines again. He tenses up and the guard scanning the number on Calum's hand glances over. 

“Three!” He shouts. Ashton goes completely rigid and refuses to look at any of them.

The guard gives Calum a dirty look and shoves him a bit, like Luke's noises are completely his fault. Stumbling back, Calum barely manages to catch himself and refrain from sending the guard a murderous look. Instead, he straightens himself up to watch carefully as the guard grabs Luke's bicep harshly.

“Don't make any fucking noises,” he spits out. Luke flinches, but firmly keeps his eyes on the stage. He's taken the little ring out of his lip today, as per Ashton's instructions. After the scanner beeps, the guard pulls Luke down harshly and hisses out, “If you're good, maybe I'll come find you later and reward you, huh?” 

Ashton's still ridged, and Calum looks to be twitching as he fights back the urge to lunge at the guard. Luke keeps his eyes locked straight ahead, so the guard shoves him back and moves down the line. He goes for the number on Michael's cheek, flashing a little light over it before the scanner beeps, then raises his eyebrows at Michael and Luke. 

“Look at you two,” he muses. Michael follows Luke's example and stares straight ahead, but the guard keeps talking. “Quite a pair, aren't you? Maybe I'll track both of you down and-” 

“Mate, just move on,” Ashton snaps. The guards head whips over in surprise, but his face just falls into a glare when he sees Ashton.

“you don't command me, Irwin,” he hisses out. For extra measure, he shoves Michael back by the chest, knocking the wind out of him with a small gasp. 

“Just saving you time,” Ashton's eyes are still locked on Willow while he speaks to the guard. “They aren't worth it.” 

Michael resists the urge to glance over in surprise. He doesn't think he's ever heard Ashton use a conjugated word or sound so American. He's seemingly erased his accent completely. Luke glances at the guard out of the corner of his eye before darting his hand out to link it with Michael's, again. Michael squirms away and shoves him back as subtly as possible. 

“Saving me time?” The guard scoffs as he grabs Ashton's wrist tight enough to make bother his knuckles and Ashton's skin around his grip turn white, but Ashton just clenches his jaw slightly. “I think I know what to waste my time on.” 

Ashton finally tears his eyes away when the beep sounds, signaling that he's been signed in. He glances at the guard and smirks. “They've both got crabs. Trust me.” 

Michael wants to be offended, but watching the guard shove Ashton away in disgust is more amusing. 

“You're one sick fuck, Irwin,” the guard mutters. He shoots Ashton one last glare before moving into the next kid in line. 

Ashton looks back to the front of the stage and locks his hands behind his back, looking simultaneously amused and exhausted. Luke scrambles for Michael's hand again, but Michael allows it this time. Their fingers lace together, while Calum and Ashton stare at Willow with determination. Ashton blinks first. When the guards finish checking everyone in with our further incident, the man in the purple suit steps forward and smiles widely, smoothing back his violently yellow hair. 

“Welcome!” He says enthusiastically into the microphone. “It's good that you are here! This year for the annual lottery, the rules are slightly different! You have all been very obedient this year, so, as a reward, only two winners will be chosen!” No one speaks to first, so he continues. “Instead of a male and female winner from each age group, there will simply be two winners from the entire population!” 

Michael swipes his tongue over his bottom lip and glances over at Ashton's impartial expression. “Why?” he whispers.

Ashton knows he means why them, why we they be chosen out of all the citizens? He smiles lightly without looking away from his daughter. “We know what we are doing. We do not have families.” 

Michael glances back at that and catches sight of Calum's sister. He knows Luke's family is behind them, as well. 

“Without further ado,” The man waves his gloved hand dramatically and everyone's breath catches in their throats. Michael shoves his shoulders back while Luke's grip on his hand increases. After a second of finger wiggling, the man shoves his hand into the large, clear bowl on stage. A few ping pong balls pop out and roll across the stage. Michael catches sight of the one with Luke's number bouncing away and feels Ashton breathe a sigh of relief from next to him. 

The man pulls his hand back out with two of the balls in his palm and holds them up to his face triumphantly. His eyebrows furrow for a second, before he tosses one over his shoulder and reaches back into the bowl. Finally, he pulls another out and smiles widely. “this year's lottery winners are 17 and 630!” 

Ashton instantly grabs Michael's hand and tugs him away from Luke and towards the stage. Michael bumps his shoulder against Calum's as the pass because he knows it's the last time he'll be able to. All eyes are on them and Michael's cheeks flush brightly at the attention. He ducks his head down and follows Ashton to the stage, ignoring the whispers at their linked hands and how Willow gleefully yells, “Papa!” 

Ashton shoots her a beaming smile as they pass, which Willow returns while shoving the blue rock into her mouth. He climbs the stairs to the stage first, dragging Michael behind him, and stands proudly in front of all the citizens. 

The guards all seem to be either overjoyed or devastated by Ashton's appearance on stage, but Michael doesn't know why. He understands why they'd be happy, they all seem to hate him, but he doesn't know why they'd be upset. Ashton dying or leaving the town should be great, why do some of them look nervous? 

“Catch or release?” The man in the purple suit asks. Up close, Michael can see the white makeup practically dripping off his face to reveal the brown skin tone underneath. He frowns when the microphone is shoved into his face. 

“Release,” he mutters. Ashton echoes him cheerily and a murmur hurries through the gathered crowd. The guards smiles fade quickly and they grip their guns a little tighter. 

“Very anticlimactic!” Even the yellow haired man sound a little upset that they will both be released. “We must honor your wishes, however!” He turns towards the rest of the citizens and instructs them to return to their homes while Michael and Ashton are prepared for release, and everyone quickly scatters. 

Calum's quick to march up to the stage and snatch Willow into his arms. Luke grips his belt loop so they don't get lost, and shoots Michael an encouraging smile as they pass. Calum's muttering in a variety of languages, but everyone's ignoring him.


	5. 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael mourns a bug and Ashton fights some fish

“Where are you from?” Michael asks.

Ashton glances over his shoulder and eyes the wheezing boy curiously. “Who, me?” 

“No, Ashton, the fuckin’-” Michael pauses, stopping with his foot on top of a decaying log, to gesture around to the vast forest around them. “The fucking trees, Ashton.” 

Ashton smiles and nods his head forward until Michael groans and follows him through the thick forest, again. They've been walking for hours now, at least it seems that way to Michael. By his best estimation, the ceremony took place around noon, and it was only twenty minutes before the two of them were thrown out of the cities walls, each with a backpack of cheap looking supplies. 

Ashton had led them through the trees and heavy foliage until they couldn't see the thirty foot walls, anymore. As soon as the were out of sight, he'd dropped to his knees and split their supplies. The food and water bottles went into Michael's bag, while ropes, blankets, and sheets went into Ashton's. He'd shoved a long knife into both their belt loops, keeping the thick, plastic covering on Michael's but tossing his into the bushes carelessly. 

Michael's fucking exhausted. The sun is only an inch from the horizon by now, Michael can see it through the thick tree branches when they crest a hill. He'd never really been in great shape, they weren't allowed to work out at all in the city, and Michael tended to abide by the rules. Ashton, however, did all kinds of stupid exercises on the living room floor, sometimes placing Willow on his back while he did push-ups and the three year old squealed. Calum joined him at night, never in the mornings, and even Luke managed to get into some sort of shape before they left. 

Michael didn't see the point. He was going to live in the stupid city until he died, just like everyone else, so why bother getting muscles? Obviously, he didn't see this curveball. 

“Can we stop?” He whines, for thee millionth time. 

Ashton halts abruptly. So abruptly, Michael walks straight into him, so hard that they almost go tumbling down the hill. “We have high ground, here.” 

Michael raises his eyebrows and steps back a step or two. “Is that a yes? We're on ground that is high, so I really hope that means we can stop. My entire body is on fire, Ashton, I'm dying.” 

Ashton turns around and grabs Michael's elbow, quickly glancing him over to make sure he's not actually dying. “Do not say that. I worry.” 

“I embrace death,” Michael groans dramatically. Ashton rolls his eyes again and glancing to the sun in front of them through the tree branches and leaves. He uses Michael's elbow to spin him around, ignoring his pained noises, and digs through the smaller pocket on the backpack. He comes up with a small, circular device with opposite red and black arrows. Michael glances at it curiously and pauses his whining to watch. 

“We will walk south until we find a stream, then we will stop,” he decides. 

Michael groans again. “Where are we even going? How is dirty nature water going to help us, we have perfectly fine water in the bottles they gave us?” 

“They are poisoned,” Ashton announces. He shifts his hand around, circle thing in his palm, until the black end points to their left. He shoves it in the pocket of his jeans and starts marching in that direction. “Your city does not want me to survive. Nor you.” 

“What did I do?” Michael scoffs as he trudges after Ashton. His legs are burning and his gut isn't doing much better. 

“You are with me,” Ashton reminds him. Michael figures living with someone the guards hate is pretty much a death sentence, at this point. “They need to give us certain things to ensure our survival, due to government regulations. They have modified a few to kill us.” 

“How would you know?” Michael trips on a stick, but catches himself on a tree before he can fall to the ground. His hand comes away sticky and green, much to his distress. He shrieks and grabs his wrist, holding his hand out in front of him. “Ashton, I touched something! It's sticky, it's sticky!” 

Ashton sighs and turns to face him again, inspecting the hand offered to him. He looks over the tree trunk, as well, flicking at the hard, black shell of something. “You squished a beetle, you are fine.” 

Michael stares at his hand full of sticky, green slime- bug guts- and immediately starts gagging. He wheezes and folds over, heaving and coughing up nothing, while all the blood rushes to his head. 

“Ragazzino-” Ashton starts in exasperation, then clearly decides it isn't worth an argument and grabs a handful of leaves. He crouches down while Michael continues barely holding down vomit, and swipes the leaves across his palm a few times. He throws them aside and grabs a new handful, then spits into Michael's hand, only to wipe it away, again. Michael dry heaves again. “Come on, ça va,” Ashton laces their fingers together and squishes his palm against Michael's to show him it's completely fine. 

“Oh, god,” Michael straightens up slightly and helps pull Ashton up. “I killed a bug, I'm a terrible person. He probably had a bug family and a bug job that he'll never go to again. Maybe even a nice bug home. I widowed a bug, Ashton!” 

“Widowed?” He looks confused by the word, but simply shakes his head. “It was a beetle, and he does not have a bug family or bug job.” 

“Not anymore!” Michael cries. 

Ashton rolls his eyes again and pulls his hand out of Michael's to cup the younger boy's cheeks and press a kiss to his forehead. “He never had one. Beetles abandon their young and rely only on themselves. They are very isolated bugs. Like you, Mon amour.” Michael swats at his wrists and scowls. 

“Don't think you can call me your dumb French pet names and expect to get away with calling me an isolated bug,” Michael grumbles. 

“Would it have been better in Spanish?” Ashton asks. Michael glares at him, so Ashton smiles and kisses his forehead again. “Allons. Il commence à faire sombre, it's getting dark. If we do not find a place to stop before it is dark, we will be- what is the word?” 

“Fucked?” Michael supplies.

Ashton nods firmly. “Fucked.” 

Michael decides he sound good when he swears. They keep walking south until the sun is halfway under the horizon, when they find a small, fast stream. The water is so ckear, Michael can see the little rocks at the bottom and the tiny fish swimming downstream. He sits and swipes his hands into the water in an attempt to catch them while Ashton sets up the small tent a good couple of yards from the water's edge. 

When he's finshed, he throws the torn and dirty blankets inside and zips the front up tightly. “Amoureux, tesoro, are you hungry?” 

Michael nods eagerly and abandons the quick and tiny fish in favor of looking at Ashton. He's rummaging through Michael's bag and removing all the water bottles and a few packages of food. “What is that?” Michael asks.

“Fake food,” Ashton explains, shaking a flat looking package about the size of his palm. “It is a powder type substance. You put it in a water bottle, shake it up for a while, and it will be the food.” He passes the package of what looks like noodles over to Michael and starts digging through the bag to find another. 

Michael is skeptical, but Ashton hasn't lied to him so far. “I thought the water bottles were poisoned?” 

“The water,” Ashton reminds him. “Please go empty them down there, a few meters away from the water?” He points downstream, so Michael shrugs and grabs the four water bottles that had been given to him. The covered knife knocks against his thigh as he walks downhill. When he gets to a good spot, he glances back to Ashton for confirmation and unscrews the first bottle. The water, when he pours it out, seeps into the ground immediately and steams up, creating a soft hissing noise. Michael takes a step back and holds his arm further away to continue dumping the water. 

Ashton takes them when he's finished and holds them under the quick moving stream for a few minutes, emptying and refilling them until the water he throws out doesn't steam and hiss when it hits the ground. “I am from France,” he says abruptly. 

Michael glances up from where he's sitting at the edge of the stream again, watching the tiny fish. “What?” 

“You asked where I am from before,” Ashton reminds him. “I am from France.” He pauses and glances at Michael with a grin before shouting, “Vive la France!” His accent is thick and his voice is loud enough that it echoes around the trees and scares a bird out of the branches above them, sending it flapping and squawking into the sky. 

“What's that mean?” Michael laughs.

Ashton throws water out of one of the water bottles again. “It shows patriotism- like, to uplift your spirits by proclaiming your home country. You do not have that here, because you are one country through the whole continent. In Europe, there are a lot of little countries. My father was from Spain and my mother from Italy, but they met in France and had me. Ma mère, she taught me a lot of Italian, mi padre, Spanish, but I grew up speaking French.” 

Michael stares at him, trying to decide if he's lying, or not. He's never even heard of these countries. He honestly thought Earrth was filled completely by America and something called the ocean that he has yet to see pictures of. Ashton looks sincere, however, smiling happily to himself as he thinks of his homeland. 

“You will meet them,” Ashton decides, nodding and looking up at Michael. “My father was called to serve his country when I was young, so I did not get to see him often, but we will go to him.” 

Michael raises his eyebrows but he's not about to question Ashton, now. He's got them this far, Michael truly doesn't doubt he'll be able to get them to this Europe place, somehow or another. Instead, he focuses on the latter part of Ashton's statement. “Is your dad a guard, or something?” 

Ashton shakes his head and looks up from his water bottle washing to send Michael a pleased grin. “No, he is the king.” 

“Sick,” Michael says instantly. Ashton giggles and tosses the third clean bottle aside to start on the final one. “Does that make you, like, a prince?” 

Ashton nods. “Both ways. My maternal grandmother rules Italy, my mother may be back there, now. She had no reason to stay in France when I was sent here.” 

“That's cool as fuck, dude,” Michael tells him. A fish drifts close enough, so he darts forward and clasps his hands under water where it had been, only coming up with a few rocks and water falling through his fingers. 

Ashton nods and laughs at him fondly. “Cool as fuck,” he agrees. “When we get to Europe, we will attack America and get Luke and Calum and Willow. A few months at the most.” 

Michael darts forward and fails at catching a fish, again. “How do you think they're doing?” 

“Willow is crying,” Ashton shrugs. “She cries when I am away. Calum is probably trying to comfort her, but Luke will be able to. She seems to think Luke is her mother?” 

Michael laughs again when Ashton shakes his head in confusion. “I guess someone had to full the role.” 

Ashton stiffens up, smile instantly falling off his face. Michael frowns and tilts his head in concern, but Ashton keeps his eyes locked onto the stream in front of them.

“I'm sorry,” Michael mumbles when he doesn't respond. “I didn't mean…” 

“She left three years ago, Michael,” Ashton tells him. “I no longer care for her, she abandoned her family.” Michael furrows his eyebrows in confusion. He thought she had been released, she couldn't have abandoned her family if it was by force. Then again, they were both released by choice. 

“You told me about your family,” Michael frowns, quickly changing the subject so Ashton will relax. “They- you said they were released and caught and escaped? I don't get it.” 

Ashton smiles again and Michael relaxes. “I lied to you,” Michael scoffs and Ashton giggles at him. I moved here with my siblings when we were all teenagers, my father needed spies and we were the only people be trusted. My mother and father never lived here, my older sister took care of us. She and my younger brother jumped ship as soon as they could, while my younger sister was killed. She did not like life here and mi padre would not let her return, so she acted up and got shot by a guard. The other two should be in France, my sister was a government official before she left.” 

“Let me get this straight,” Michael pauses and dives for a fish again, only to come up empty handed for the millionth time. He huffs and continues. Your sister is a French government official, you're mom is in line to the Italian throne, and your dad is king of Spain.” Ashton nods again, setting the bottle aside to look up at Michael patiently. “Your entire family is higher ups. What do you do?” 

Ashton reaches for his belt loop and whips the knife out instead of speaking. Michael flinches, but the older boy only throws it into the stream sharply, leaving the handle sticking out of the side of the bank, half underwater. He reaches over and peels it out of the sand, then holds it up triumphantly, showing Michael the two, tiny, silver fish stabbed in the middle by the sharp blade. “Marksman,” he says simply. 

Michael stares at the fish for a second before grinning. “Sick.”


	6. Crocodile?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ashton and Michael find some monsters and talk about Calum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't speak Italian, Spanish, or French, so please correct me if I say something ugly!!

It's their fifth day walking and Michael is fucking exhausted. And cold, despite how he's sweating and wheezing, still. Even Ashton is tired, now. They have four water bottles filled with clean, drinkable water in Michael's bag, but Ashton is insistent on finding some stupid river. 

“All water empties into bigger water,” he keeps saying. They'd followed the stream until it ran dry, so Michael's not sure he believes that. Either way, he trusts Ashton, Prince of fucking Spain, to keep them save. Well, he trusts Ashton not to let him die. 

Ashton stops abruptly and holds his arm out next to him so Michael knocks into it and stops, as well. He slouches and pants heavily, glancing up at Ashton to see the older boy looking around with quick eyes. 

“Can you climb a tree?” He asks. 

Michael snorts in amusement. “No, I can't climb a fucking tree. Ashton, I can barely walk-” 

“Time to learn,” Ashton cuts him off. He flicks his eyes around for a second more, zeroing in on a nice sized tree to their right. He crouches next to it and laces his fingers together, making a step. “Come on, up you go.” 

“What the fuck?” Michael frowns at him. Something rustles in the bushes behind him, so he scrambles th grab Ashton's shoulders and step on his hand. Grabbing the bottom branch, he hefts himself up with burning muscles and limbs. He crouches low on the branch, knees shaking, as he grips the tree trunk forcefully. The tree is thick enough that he can't get his arms completely around it, but he sure as hell tries. 

“Come on,” Ashton coaxes as he stands. He's eye level with Michael's calves, so he flicks them and gestures up. “Up, up, allons.” 

Michael whines, but the bushes is still shaking and hissing, so he grabs the tree branch above him and starts trying to pull himself onto it. He's never done a pull up in his life and his body is already protesting, so his feet kick out wildly when he gets about halfway. He has the branch tucked under his armpits, but he can't find any traction to push himself up the rest of the way. 

Ashton's quick to jump onto the lower branch and crouch down, guiding Michael's feet to his shoulders before he stands, again. He forcefully pushes Michael up onto the branch, practically folding him over it. The younger boy lays across the branch on his stomach, rough bark scratching him where his shirt had ridden up. He dangles there arms and legs hanging limp under him, until Ashton crawls onto the second branch and pulls him up. He sits on Michael's right, straddling the tree branch, and moves Michael into the same position, back against Ashton's front, so Michael can wrap his arms around the tree trunk and cling tightly. 

“Why are we up here?” Michael whispers shakily. Evidently, he's not a big fan of heights. 

Ashton shushes him and shifts closer, pressing Michael bodily into the tree trunk. Michael groans as his face is squished against the rough bark and hopes to God there isn't any bugs on it. 

Ashton wraps an arm around Michael's waist protectively and grabs the tree trunk with the other, flicking his eyes around the forest floor carefully. Michael can see his footprints in the mud, in all the places Ashton had avoided. He's really trying not to look down, but that fucking bush is still moving. 

Something hisses behind it, before a long, green snout is sticking out of the thick foliage. A thick, long head follows it, only about a foot on the ground. The scaled creature blink, letting it's mouth drop open an inch or two to reveal gigantic, sharp, pearly white teeth. Michael opens his mouth to yell or, something, but Ashton's arm tightens around his waist and his free hand slaps over Michael's mouth. 

“I need you to be quiet,” Ashton whispers, pressing a calming kiss to the corner of Michael's jaw. Michael doesn't feel very calm, he feels fucking terrified. He doesn't like heights and he doesn't like trees and he really doesn't like that freaky looking creature that's stepping further into the small clearing. 

It's full of dark, green scales and looks dry, with short legs and long claws. Slowly, the thing steps onto the path they'd been walking on a few minutes prior, and then just fucking stays there. Directly underneath them, with his giant teeth and nails and the spikes on its back. Michael's shaking, completely terrified and breathing frantically against Ashton's palm. Ashton seems to sense his nerves and slips a hand up under Michael's shirt, rubbing soothingly at his chest in stomach. 

“Ça va,” he whispers, lips brushing against Michael's ear. “It's okay, I promise. She can't climb trees, we'll be okay up here. Do you want me to kill her?” 

Michael's immediate reaction is to agree, to watch Ashton slaughter it like he'd done to the rabid raccoon they'd run into a few days ago. It had hissed and jumped onto Ashton from the tree tops, grabbing at him with sharp nails on his dirty little paws. Ashton had pinned it to the ground and stabbed it straight through the chest, killing it in a second. The stupid thing had terrified Michael, but seeing it dead had made it even worse, and he'd burst into tears the second Ashton had looked at him. 

Ashton removes his palm from Michael's mouth when he shakes his head. “And piss off her giant monster family? No thanks.” Ashton presses a smile into the back of his neck and continues rubbing over his chest softly. “What is it?” 

“Alligator,” Ashton tells him, watching the creature look around, still settled underneath their tree. “Or a crocodile. I never know the difference. They live mostly in water, usually salt, that means we are close.” 

“Close to what?” Michael asks. The monster underneath them moves it's head slightly and Michael falls forward and presses his face into the tree trunk, again. Ashton doesn't immediately follow him, so Michael reaches behind him with one shaking hand and presses it against Ashton's lower back until the older boy is laying against him again, as close as physically possible with the bag still on Michael's back. 

Ashton kisses his shoulder and whispers, “The ocean.” 

“The ocean?” Michael echoes. He feels Ashton nod, but doesn't get any further explanation, so he let's it go. Ashton will tell him when he's ready. After what Michael estimates to be a half an hour, Ashton sits back and manhandles the bag off Michael's shoulders, keeping a steady hold around Michael's waist with his free hand. He carefully hands the bag on the tree branch above them and cuddles closer to Michael, layering kisses down the side of his neck. 

“You can sleep,” He offers. “I will hold you up. Oui?” 

“I want to drink, but I know I'll have to piss,” Michael mutters. Ashton giggles and kisses his jaw again. “I don't know anything about the people in France, but do all of you kiss this much?” 

“We do,” Ashton nods against his shoulder. “The kissing was minimal a love time ago, before the war, but we have- we are worried about never seeing each other again. So many people died in the war, everyone just started kissing more and more. The French are very loving people, not like you Americans, with your hostility and fear. That is why I like Calum. He is a lover.” 

Michael groans at the word lover and shakes his head at Ashton, scratching his cheek against the tree bark. “Ashton, we don't really say that word, here. Unless you're in love with someone, then you call them your lover.” 

“I love Calum,” Ashton decides. “He is a very beautiful boy and he let's me kiss him. We have been friends for a very long time, Calum is my lover.” 

“No, that's- I don't think you're using that word correctly,” Michael says carefully, making sure to keep his voice quiet. The Alligator-Crocodile-Monster is apparently asleep below them. “You don't kiss Calum on the mouth and you don't- you're not in love with him. You love him as a friend, not as a boyfriend.” 

“Oh,” Ashton frowns, pressing his mouth into the back of Michael's neck. “That is not fair, Calum has been my best friend since we were three.” 

“Since you were three?” Michael echoes. “Jesus, how long have you been here? I thought you grew up in France?” 

“I did,” Ashton confirms. “With Calum. His sister had an affair with the king of France, but she was not a royal, so they were exiled from the country. They used all their money to come here, Calum is the reason I asked to be put in this city. He is part Spanish, like my father, and he speaks the language better than French. His mother is Maori, he speaks that, as well. When he complains about me, he speaks Maori, when I complain about him, I speak Italian, so we cannot understand each other.” 

Michael giggles in amusement at that. 

“The rest of his family is Maori,” Ashton continues. “They speak the language together. I have no one to speak Italian to, anymore. That is why we are going I Europe. The language is an art form in itself.” 

“You can speak Italian to me,” Michael offers, shifting so he's leaning into Ashton's chest even more. “I won't understand you, but it sounds pretty when you speak it.” 

Ashton presses a smile into his shoulder before hooking his chin over it. He presses a soft kiss to Michael's cheek while he considers what to say, then whispers, “Siamo iddioti bloccato in un albero, perché c’è un alligatore sotto di noi.” 

Michael smiles despite hearing the word alligator, mainly because Ashton does sound beautiful speaking Italian. The words flow off his tongue easily, quick and fluid, like that's his first language, not French. “What'd you say?” Michael asks. 

Ashton giggles and translates, “We are idiots stuck in a tree, because there is an alligator underneath us.” Michael grins and tilts his head to the side until Ashton kisses his cheek again. 

By the time the alligator moves, the sun is falling towards the horizon quickly, which makes Ashton frown. He hurries Michael from the tree, slinging both bags over the smaller boy's shoulder, then bends down until Michael crawls onto his back. Michael's grateful, he's still slightly terrified another giant monster with sharp teeth is going to snap out of his ankles and eat him alive. Now, they'll just get Ashton. Which is a million times worse. Ashton carries him until they get to a large, swampy lake.

There's several more of the monstrous, scaly creatures, all relaxing in the sun at the edge of the water. There's a few of them swimming aimlessly, as well, and Michael's terrified that they're going to have to get water and he'll be snapped in half by sharp teeth. Luckily, Ashton just helps him climb into the lowest branch of a nearby tree. He keeps a hand on Michael's foot while he glances around carefully, surveying the scene around them. 

“Okay, it is getting dark,” Ashton notes as he looks back up at Michael. “We need water so we can continue tomorrow with minimal stops.” 

“I'll dehydrate, it's fine,” Michael replies quickly. He's sitting on the branch, left arm wrapped around the tree trunk, which means Ashton is eye level with his knees. The older boy rolls his eyes and rubs Michael's shin through his jeans.

“No you will not,” he says patiently. Michael huffs and clings tighter to the tree. “We are way south, it will be hot. It is summer.” Michael nods because he's already sweating through his shirt. He briefly considers chopping off the ends of his jeans to make shorts, but shoves that idea away when he remembers the thick, thorny foliage they had walked through for days. The heat is getting to him, flushing his cheeks bright red and making beads of sweat roll down his skin. The water would look enticing if it wasn't for the giant, man-eating beasts ducking under the surface every so often. 

Ashton's right. They need water. 

“The purifiers may be broken, we need to test them,” Ashton tells him. Michael glances down and shakes his head. “Yes,” Ashton counters. “I will- I will get some water and we will figure it out.” 

“No,” Michael whines. “Shouldn't we set up camp, first?” 

“Where?” Ashton quirks an eyebrow at him, which makes Michael scowl. There's alligators wandering around all over the place, hissing and jerking around. Michael's stomach clenches. The majority of them are on the opposite bank, directly across from where the two of them had stopped, and mainly docile. There are lone monsters, though, disappearing under the murky, brown water and wandering slowly across the other grassy banks of the lake. 

Ashton surveys the scene quickly, before nodding his head. “Give me the bags.” Michael wants to scowl and make a fuss, but Ashton looks like he isn't in the mood. Michael doesn't blame him, the heat is making him angry. At what, he's not sure. He hands them down, but Ashton just hands them back up again when he finds the two empty bottles. “Stay here, okay?”

Michael shift nervously in the tree. “Are you sure?” 

“Do not worry about me,” Ashton kisses his knee and smiles up at him reassuringly, but Michael's stomach is still churning. “Here,” Ashton reaches up and removes the knife from Michael's belt loop. He pulls the plastic cover off and presses it into the hand that's not gripping the tree trunk. “If something comes at you, aim for the head, the eyes, or the tummy.” He points to each soft spot on his own body, which only spikes Michael's nerves even more. “Promise me your will not move, Michael.” 

Michael frowns, but decides it's useless to argue any longer. Ashton's going to get water and Michael's going to sit in the tree, no matter what. He nods and mumbles, “As long as you promise you'll come back to get me.” 

“Of course,” Ashton smiles and reaches up to grab Michael's hand, still clutching his knife tightly. He presses a kiss to the back of it and eyes the blade inches from his face for a second, before deeming it acceptable. “I will be right back. Promise.” 

Michael let's Ashton wander towards the water while he pouts. The curly haired boy slips the knife from his belt loop again and holds it tightly in his hand, keeping the blade poised and ready. The empty water bottle is in his other hand, and Michael's heart jumps into his throat when he realizes Ashton will have to go back to fill up the other bottle. He wants to swear, wants to scream and tell Ashton they can find other water, later, but Ashton seems to have his heart set on this stupid lake. 

Michael hates this fucking lake. The water looks disgusting, there's giant monsters everywhere, it seems like a terrible situation, overall. Michael scowls while he watches Ashton tread through the grass cautiously. There's a clear path that he's walking on, one where the grass is filled with dirt and smashed undergrowth. Ashton's eyes are flickering around nervously while he creeps forward, slowly but surely, until he's about a foot away from the water. 

He glances back at Michael with a smile, before his eyes are zeroing in on the two monsters closest to him. One has its eyes peeked just above the water level, while the other is lounging in the grass. They're both a few yards out from Ashton, but Michael's still stressed and sweating. 

Ashton stays completely still for a couple seconds, glancing between the two, completely still creatures, before he's dropping into a crouch and darting his hand under the water. He fills the bottle up in half a second, then stands again. The Alligator-Crocodile-Monster on land moves it's head so it's parallel with Ashton, eyeing him curiously, while the other ducks completely under the water. Ashton snaps the top onto the bottle and takes off running as fast as he can, towards Michael's tree. 

The one on land hisses and whips around to face him, but doesn't get any further than that. Ashton's quick. He's back, climbing up onto the tree branch next to Michael, before any of the other creatures notice his presence. 

Michael waits until Ashton gets himself steady on the branch to wrap an arm around his shoulders and tug him in for a hug. 

“Stop it,” Ashton giggles. “I told you I would come back.” 

“I thought it would be in multiple pieces,” Michael admits. Ashton shakes his head in amusement and reaches for the second empty bottle. He unscrews the cap, then squeezes the contents of the full bottle into it, through the purifier, smiling when the water runs clear and clean. 

While he works, Michael thinks back to his childhood briefly. He remembers sixth grade, the boy who had sat next to him abruptly stopped coming to school one day. The teachers had told the class a horrifying story of a river monster with sharp teeth and scales, who had bitten the boy clean in half. They'd split him up for a meal, two monsters chowing down on the small sixth grader that often joked with Michael about their math teacher's greasy curls. Michael remembers how he'd run out to the city walls with a group of boys after school to pound against the concrete and steel, making sure they were sturdy enough to keep such monsters out. He thinks Luke might have been in the group, but he's not sure. 

Michael shakes the story from his head and looks over when Ashton holds up a bottle of clean water triumphantly. “One more, then we will look for a place to sleep.” Michael sighs heavily and shoots Ashton what he hopes is a pathetically sad stare, but Ashton simply leans forward to kiss his nose. “One more. Promise.” 

Michael holds out his pinky. Ashton looks at it curiously until he explains. “Pinky promise. It's a bond stronger than normal promises. You can't break a pinky promise. Here,” He grabs Ashton's hand, the one that isn't holding the empty bottle, and pushes his fingers down until only his pinky is sticking up, then wraps his own around it. “There, you pinky promised this is the last one.” 

“I like this,” Ashton decides. Michael smiles at him, so Ashton leans in and kisses both his cheeks lightly. “I will be right back. Ti amo più di ogni altra cosa, I love you more than anything.” 

“Except your daughter,” Michael reminds him.

Ashton smiles and nods, “Except my daughter.” With that, he hops from the tree and grabs his knife and one hand and the only empty bottle left in the other. Michael watches his creep forward, sitting on his tree and clutching the trunk, with his stomach in absolute knots. 

Ashton repeats the process of slowly stepping forward and watching the creatures with giant teeth, before he's ducking under the water and sprinting back. This time, however, he steps on something that screeches loud enough to echo. Ashton stumbles backwards for a small moment, before taking off even faster towards Michael's tee, while Michael frowns at the tiny thing in the grass. It looks like a little monster, with minimal teeth and tiny legs. 

The creature on land, closest to where Ashton had been, whips it's head around at the baby's cry and hisses. When it sees Ashton running, it chases after him. Michael let's out a started squeak, watching the thing chase after Ashton, surprisingly gaining on him with its fast waddle. 

Ashton lunges and climbs onto the branch, then quickly pushes Michael up by his knees and planted on Ashton's shoulders, until he crawls up onto the branch above them. Their bags are hanging on it, so Michael scrambles to grab them before they fall. Ashton climbs up next and pushes Michael into the same position as last time they were in a tree because of a giant monster; hugging the tree trunk, with Ashton laying over him like a blanket. 

The monster chasing them reaches the tree and lunges, snapping dangerously underneath them. It falls back to the ground with a heavy thud, before jumping up again. This time, it catches the branch they had been on before and bites down, breaking it off about a foot from the trunk with a loud snap. Michael cries out in terror and presses closer to the tree, only for Ashton to slap a hand over his mouth. 

Michael breathes heavily against his palm, panting frantically and staying completely still. He doesn't want to move an inch, in fear of the branch snapping or the monster catching sight of him. He feels terrified tears dripping down his face, eyes wide as he watches the creature rip up the branch it had snapped off, tearing it apart with horrifying teeth. 

“She has bad eyesight,” Ashton whispers, lips against Michael's ear. “Hopefully she will think that is us.” Michael sure as fuck hopes so. 

He's shaking, fingers squeezing the rough bark of the tree trunk while he presses himself into it, hoping Ashton will press up behind him just as close. He does, luckily, following Michael and holding him tight with an arm around his waist. 

The creature finishes snapping and tearing at the tree branch, leaving nothing but splinters, then pauses underneath them. She's completely still, except for the slight movement of her eyes. Ashton presses a soft kiss to Michael's jaw to calm him down a bit, running at his chest through his shirt, with the hand that's tight around him. 

After what seems like hours, even though it's probably only a few minutes, the monster slowly turns and begins ambling back towards the lake. Ashton let's out a sigh of relief, while Michael starts sobbing hysterically against Ashton's hand still over his mouth. Ashton shushes him gently, but doesn't remove his hand until both the baby and the mother are back on the edge of the lake, sunbathing, completely oblivious to the two humans in the tree. 

As soon as Ashton's hand is gone, Michael cries out miserably and relaxes his death grip on the tree trunk. Ashton pets at him and kisses the back of his head until he stops sobbing in complete terror and simply slumps forward against the tree, sniffling and hiccuping. 

“Ça va?” Ashton asks cautiously. 

Michael whimpers. “I want to go home.” 

“No,” Ashton frowns against the side of his neck and rubs his chest softly again. “No you do not-” 

“I do!” Michael cuts him off quickly. “I want to go home and I want to sit in my tiny house with my mom and dad and my sister! I want to be safe in that stupid house behind those stupid walls with protection from all those stupid guards! And I want to see Willow and Luke and Calum and- and I want to live with you forever in a tiny house, safe and sound! I want to go home!” 

Ashton let's him wallow in his own homesick misery for a few minutes, trying to calm him down by holding him closer and rubbing across his torso. He presses a few, calming kisses to the side of Michael's jaw and neck, whispering words Michael can't understand in a soothing voice. When he calms down enough, Ashton mumbles, “You hate the walls.” 

“I love them, they kept you safe, they kept all of us safe,” Michael replies. His cheek is pressed to the tree trunk, still, rubbing against his flushed and aching skin. Now its wet from his damn tears, too. Michael's miserable. “They kept all these giant monsters out so they couldn't eat us alive.” 

“Michael, the walls are not made to keep the monsters out,” Ashton frowns again and sits back slightly, leaving his chin hooked over Michael's shoulder. “Before the war, there were big houses everywhere. Even here, this close to these things. The walls are meant to keep all of you in.” 

“Why?” Michael asks.

Ashton either ignores him or changes the subject when he replies, “In Europe, there are small cities spread out. They are like yours, but happier, and there is no fear. The people help each other, and there are no walls. There is more grassland than forests where we are going, with lots of flowers and friendly bugs, like butterflies and worms. I will show you when we get to Spain.” 

“Why, Ashton?” Michael repeats, going back to their original topic. Why the walls are meant to keep the people in. The towns are cramped, Michael always figured they couldn't make them any larger, due to the lurking creatures outside. 

“Sometimes,” Ashton whispers, swallowing thickly, against the curve of Michael's shoulder. “Sometimes, the people in individual cities protest and riot. Your government does not like that, they want complete peace. When a city acts up enough, the guards retreat and you government drops a bomb on them that sends everything up in flames. Nothing is left and they rebuild over the ashes.” 

Michael grips the tree tighter and shifts against Ashton, digging his knuckles into the bark. They're already white, he's holding the bags tightly, one in each hand, on either side of the tree. This is new information. He thinks back to when he was younger, digging in the dirt on the playground with his friends. They'd found a dirty, rusted ring and marveled at the sight of it until one of the guards snatched it away. 

“I fear that is what they will do to your city,” Ashton whispers. Michael's surprised to find he sounds just as terrified as Michael feels. He'd figured the city meant nothing to him. “I have heard whispers of riots. They will not act on the riots until the entire town is engaged, it may take a few weeks. Calum can hold them off for a couple days, but your people are restless, Michael. That is why we are walking. That is why we had to leave.” 

 

Michael thinks of Willow’s sweet smile and thinks yeah. They had to leave.


End file.
